


never too old for a makeover

by rainedparade



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Hair Dyeing, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 10:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16596212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainedparade/pseuds/rainedparade
Summary: Spoilers for Kun's new look and also their most recent matches.Or: where the more things change, the more they stay the same.





	never too old for a makeover

Experience counts.

Experience means Lio can bounce back with little to no down time following a loss.

It also means that Kun will never stop pulling a fast one on him.

Lio has _just_ convinced himself that everything's okay. And then he sees the ridiculous hairstyle which not even Ney would be caught dead sporting and he hates it. He hates how it makes Kun look either twenty years older or five years younger. He hates how it's light-years away from the image he has of Kun. But mostly, he hates how Kun _owns_ it, just like that.

None of which he bothers telling Kun, mind you.

 _What the hell did you do to your hair_ , he writes as soon as the derby is finished. His text is followed by a flurry of troubled emoticons.

 _Where have you been?_ Kun writes back, and Lio can hear the glee in his tone, _I got it dyed YESTERDAY. Don't you check twitter?_

 _I don't have a twitter_ Lio replies even as he's pulling up a browser and going to said page. He's got a handful of twitters bookmarked; Kun is one of them.

 _I know, but you should REALLY get one_. Kun says this right as Lio finds the post in question. It's at the top of Kun's feed, two headshots at a reasonably flattering angle and --

"Fuck," Lio says, tearing his eyes away from the screen. He turns back to his phone, where Kun is happily repeating the same usual reasons to join. How it's (still) the coolest thing ever and it's like a website with none of the work and so on and so forth. Lio's pretty sure Kun's spent more time and energy trying to convert him to twitter than ManCity.

 _If I were you, I'd sue,_ Lio writes back, dutifully ignoring the previous wall of text. _the color is awful it doesn't match your beard you look like an old man_. Relevant emoticons follow suit.

 _Excuse you!_ Kun answers.  
 _The gray makes me look mature_. He has the gall to put little sparkles around 'mature', as if it's a most desirable quality for a fucking football player to have.

Lio has to pull his eyes from the screen a second time. He is a rational logical person. He knows, rationally and logically, that a thirty-year-old man cannot (or at least should not) have gray hair. He also knows that no one in their right mind would dye perfectly good midnight-black hair gray like that.

But --

His phone rings. It's one of Kun's cumbia songs, which means it's Kun calling. Lio should really close the browser and maybe even ignore the phone, but he swipes right instead and puts it to his ear, never taking his eyes off the twin portraits of Kun hovering at the center of his monitor.

"What is it?" he asks. He's trying for clipped but it comes out as strained.

"Don't lie," Kun tuts, "You love it."

"Fuck you."

"Mm," Kun says on the other end. Lio can imagine him smiling his special victorious post-match smile as he's wedged between the lockers without a shirt. "Wanna know what I'm doing right now?"

"Driving to the barber's and getting it dyed back?" Lio tries.

"I'm running my hand through my hair." Kun pauses for dramatic effect. Lio instead imagines him tracing his tongue against his upper lip. "Very. Fucking. Slowly."

"Fuck you."

"It's still soft," Kun adds, like Lio cares (which he does), "Just like Georgie promised."

"Who the fuck is Georgie?" Lio asks, hating how his voice hitches at the end.

"The barber," Kun says, and Lio can hear his pout. "Georgie and Alan, this is why you need twitter." Because oh right, Kun had posted some text with the two photos but Lio was too busy ogling to read. Also said caption was in English, which meant he had automatically glazed over it.

"Anyways," Kun continues, as Lio goes back to staring at the photos and trying to update Kun's image in his mind. See, it shouldn't be so hard because his mental image of Kun has changed a lot throughout the years. And he even assumed at some point he'd start to think of Kun with gray hair. But he had thought this change would come in a matter of decades, not months. Or minutes. Anyways, as a result of this internal struggle, Lio completely zones out for the next couple seconds.

"Sorry," he says, once he realizes Kun is waiting for him to answer. "What'd you say?"

Kun huffs and Lio wonders if he's still running his fingers through his hair.

"I said," Kun repeats, "Welcome back to the pitch."

And now it's Lio's turn to pout because he remembers, right, they just lost. At home. "Some welcome," he grumbles, "We still lost."

"Yeah, yeah," he can definitely see Kun waving his hand here. But the Kun he imagines still has pitch-black hair. Lio tries reconciling the two images, but Kun keeps talking: "And you still scored more than me."

"But we still lost."

"You play midfield," Kun protests, "You shouldn't score more than me."

"It wasn't the plan," Lio admits, looking away from the screen and running a hand through his beard. He likes the feel of it, even if it's not doing a very good job of keeping him calm. "But Ousmane couldn't play so..."

"Oh, oh yeah," Kun makes a sympathetic noise that isn't meant to be arousing but just _is_. "I forgot about that. How is he?"

"It's fine. Nothing serious." Lio swallows and leans back against his seat, closing his eyes and trying once again to picture Kun -- his Kun -- with gray hair.

"That's good," Kun says. Lio can imagine him saying this with gray hair and a smile, which is a start. "The new kids always have it tough."

Lio pinches the bridge of his nose and draws a sharp breath.

"Why didn't you dye your beard too?" he asks. It's not what he wanted to ask, but it's what comes out. Some journalist he is.

"Is it that weird?"

"Yes. Yes it is."

"Okay, fine. As soon as we're done celebrating, I'll ask Alan and Georgie to dye my beard too."

"No," Lio snarls as his eyes flare open and he tightens his grip on the phone. "Don't you fucking dare."

"What? What now?"

"I'll fly over," Lio says, which is what he meant to say from the get-go. They should catch up, talk about families, the national team, maybe even play some FIFA. "When are you free?"

Kun laughs, and this too, Lio can picture with his updated hairstyle. Small victories, he tells himself. Small steps. "I thought you'd never ask," he says, and in that moment, Lio wants nothing more than to run his hands through those gray locks.

"Fly over whenever," Kun continues, "I'll make time."

Lio hangs up the phone and closes the browser. Then he ambles over to the bathroom, looking at his own reflection. He runs a hand through his hair before tugging on the end of his beard. He's gotten used to this appearance; he would even say it's grown on him. The beard, especially, had been the mark of a promise. And even though there's little chance of its realization, at the same time, he can't quite let go.

So he gives a rueful smile before shaking his head. He'll have to settle for kicking Kun's ass in FIFA.

First thing tomorrow, he promises, he'll ask for the next flight to Manchester.


End file.
